<p><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">Men don’t dump me. I end it before they ever think to. </span></p><p>That was the creed I lived by. Cold. Calculated. Confident.</p><p><br></p><p>But it wasn’t just arrogance. It was my way of shielding myself.</p><p><br></p><p>My sister, Zara, once drank a full bottle of insecticide because her boyfriend broke up with her. I was only in JSS3 at the time, but the image of her foaming at the mouth and trembling on the bathroom floor has never left me.</p><p><br></p><p>She survived, but something in me didn’t.</p><p><br></p><p>That was the day I promised myself: no man will ever get that kind of power over me.</p><p><br></p><p>A few months later, I begged my parents to transfer me to SouthGate College ,the same school the boy who dumped my sister attended. They thought I wanted better WAEC prep. I wanted revenge.</p><p><br></p><p>The boy's name was Dimeji. Final year student. Fine, arrogant, and used to girls crying for his attention.</p><p><br></p><p>So I flipped the script.</p><p><br></p><p>I dated his best friend for two weeks, then another classmate. Dumped both with cold precision. Word spread like wildfire. Some said I was using guys for money. I didn’t care.</p><p><br></p><p>Soon, Dimeji himself approached me. I made him work for it. Notes, gifts, attention, I let him invest.</p><p><br></p><p>Then, when he was head over heels, I gave him the coldest breakup ever, right after the school assembly.</p><p><br></p><p>A slap. A whisper: “Now you know how it feels.”</p><p><br></p><p>I walked away as the crowd gasped, transferred schools, and never looked back.</p><p><br></p><p>It felt like justice.</p><p><br></p><p>After that, I played the game like a master. From campus to NYSC, I broke hearts the way a butcher handles meat ruthlessly, and without remorse.</p><p><br></p><p>That was until I met Leon.</p><p><br></p><p>He was the new head of our department's tech support at the bank where I worked. Quiet. Brooding. Sharp-dressed and observant. The kind of man who didn’t speak unless it mattered.</p><p><br></p><p>One morning, our regional manager embarrassed him in front of everyone. Files tossed to the ground, voice raised, fingers pointed.</p><p><br></p><p>Leon didn’t fight back.</p><p><br></p><p>He picked up the papers slowly, nodded, and walked out.</p><p><br></p><p>Two days later, the manager was suspended.</p><p><br></p><p>That was when I saw it: power wrapped in silence.</p><p><br></p><p>I decided to get close.</p><p><br></p><p>At first, it was to be protected, maybe even admired by extension. Then curiosity bloomed. Then obsession.</p><p><br></p><p>Leon never made advances. But the way he brushed past me in the hallway, the way his voice dropped when we spoke, it ignited something in me.</p><p><br></p><p>One rainy evening, I was waiting for a cab when his grey car pulled up beside me. He didn’t say a word. Just unlocked the door.</p><p><br></p><p>I entered.</p><p><br></p><p>That was the beginning of everything.</p><p><br></p><p>Soon, I found myself staying over. Cooking for him. Shopping for him. Buying him perfumes, socks, wine glasses. All with my money.</p><p><br></p><p>I, who once scammed a boyfriend out of his birthday savings. I, who once dated a married lecturer just to get his Rolex, was now playing wife to a man who hadn’t even asked me to be his girlfriend.</p><p><br></p><p>We were intimate. Everywhere. His house. My house. The office car park. The cinema. Even the beach.</p><p><br></p><p>But still, no label.</p><p><br></p><p>Every time I asked where we stood, he’d dodge the conversation with a kiss or a trip.</p><p><br></p><p>Then, one evening, while we lay on his couch, he looked me in the eye and said, “There’s something I need to tell you. But not yet. When the time is right.”</p><p><br></p><p>My heart stalled.</p><p><br></p><p>I begged him to tell me. He refused.</p><p><br></p><p>Still, I stayed.</p><p><br></p><p>On his birthday, six months in, I cornered him and asked again, “Define us, Leon.”</p><p><br></p><p>He smiled, held my hand, and said, “Why settle for a girlfriend tag when I see you as my future wife?”</p><p><br></p><p>Those words broke me. I had played this game for years, but suddenly, I wasn’t in control.</p><p><br></p><p>I was in love.</p><p><br></p><p>A few days later, I noticed I was late. I took a pregnancy test.</p><p><br></p><p>Positive.</p><p><br></p><p>I couldn’t wait to tell him. Monday came. I got to work early.</p><p><br></p><p>Leon wasn’t there.</p><p><br></p><p>His line? Switched off.</p><p><br></p><p>His desk? Empty.</p><p><br></p><p>Confused, I asked around. My coworkers avoided my eyes. Whispers floated past me.</p><p><br></p><p>I logged into my WhatsApp.</p><p><br></p><p>That’s when I saw it.</p><p><br></p><p>Leon was married. Three years. Two kids.</p><p><br></p><p>He had resigned silently the previous week. No farewell. No goodbye. No explanation.</p><p><br></p><p>I collapsed in the break room.</p><p><br></p><p>The pregnancy held. I tried to get rid of it, but nothing worked. It was like my body had made peace with fate before my mind did.</p><p><br></p><p>Today, I have a son. His name is Leo Jr. He looks like his father.</p><p><br></p><p>And me?</p><p><br></p><p>I’ve stopped playing games.</p><p><br></p><p>I still wear confidence like perfume, but the arrogance is gone. I now understand something I didn’t before.</p><p><br></p><p>Some people walk into your life, not to teach you love, but to teach you humility.</p><p><br></p><p><br></p><p><br></p><p>When you turn love into a game, expect the rules to change. You might be the hunter today, but tomorrow, you may fall for someone who was never even playing.</p>
When Love Is A Game
ByBibi Ire•3 plays
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